


Send And Receive

by Iambic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Light D/s, M/M, Very Light Breathplay, wham-splat-porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6361114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull, slowly learning what he wants and how to ask for it. Dorian, very invested in helping with the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send And Receive

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, like many others I've written, only exists because the magnificent mastermind Toft bade it so. It also has been a lesson in checking my Tumblr notifications more than once a day.

Lips swollen, skin flushed, Dorian lifts his spit-soaked chin to rest on his arms, folded across the Bull’s spread legs. “Much as I love kneeling before you,” he says, archly, “we had a few other intentions, for which you’ll want to stay erect for.”

The Bull laughs, which is kind of a challenge with the belt around his chest and the collar at his neck. “Mm, love it when you bring out the fancy talk in bed.”

Against the Bull’s thigh Dorian shifts his fingers, hardly any movement at all, but it shakes through the Bull like a heavy landing from a high fall. Dorian rises to his feet to kneel above the Bull’s lap, hooking a finger under the collar. He leans in, mouth not quite touching the Bull’s ear, on the blind side.

“That doesn’t sound like a request.”

This is the game tonight: Dorian will do nothing until asked, and the Bull can’t talk unless it’s to do the asking. They’ve done something like this before, where Dorian wouldn’t do a damn thing until the Bull told him to do it in detail, but this is another kind of session altogether.

“I want…” 

It’s weird, how tough this actually is. He wants to make Dorian feel good. But that’s not something he can ask Dorian to do for or to him. 

“I want you to kiss me,” he finally says, and Dorian smiles before turning their faces to meet. He spares no quarter in kissing the Bull, scraping teeth against lips and following with precise movements of his tongue, not gentle, never gentle. Dorian by firelight likes to think himself sharp, dangerous. 

And he is, but the thing about it that works is how they both know by now that he’ll never be dangerous to the Bull. 

He can taste himself just a little on Dorian’s tongue, and shit but that’s hot. At some point he’d closed his eyes, and when he opens them now Dorian is watching and smiling, barely noticeable to anyone who hasn’t devoted hours and days and months into categorising every expression to cross his face. Dorian’s eyelids hang heavy and the hollows beneath them widen. A very small deepening of the crow’s feet at each side. 

He could probably kiss Dorian forever, but that’s not what they’re here for right now. Though, to be fair, if he asked it, Dorian would probably be happy to do nothing else.  _ I want you to tell me what you want. I want to take care of you as well. _

Words spoken in the heat of the moment, when he’d been balls-deep in the Bull’s ass and just possibly tending toward the dramatic. The Bull had appreciated the feeling behind them, but less vividly as he’d appreciated Dorian rolling his hips forward and back, in and out.

But Dorian had repeated them afterward. And again, muffled by blankets as he’d rutted against the Bull, and again, and again…  _ It can’t be a one-sided affair, Bull. I don’t think that would be good for either of us. _

So here, now, he asks Dorian to sit down properly in his lap, and Dorian grants it. He wants Dorian to grab his horns, and Dorian pulls at them, directing the Bull with them as he bites into the Bull’s shoulders.

“I want to fuck you,” he says, and Dorian laughs.

“Of course you do.”

“And I want you to tell me what to do.”

Dorian’s smile in the flickering firelight fades as he leans back to regard the Bull’s full face. The Bull holds still for the inspection, until Dorian settles back and crosses his arms. “I can do that,” he says eventually, but his tone says it won’t be that easy.

If the Bull rushes it, he probably won’t get too much heat. They’re not exactly working on patience or restraint here; that’s Dorian’s area of difficulty, not his. “But?”

A pause, then--not a hesitation, but a deliberate move. “But you’re going to tell me everything you can think of that you’d like to be told to do.”

  
  


So: Dorian with his legs wrapped around the Bull’s waist, three of the Bull’s fingers in his ass. “Don’t touch yourself,” he’d ordered, like the Bull has to him many times before. “Keep your back aligned. Tell me what you want to do to me, and perhaps I’ll allow it.”

“I want to fuck you,” the Bull says, once more.

Dorian’s breath hitches, another break in the level authority he’s wielding. It’s like he’s getting off on this--which could actually be the case.  _ I want to take care of you _ , he’d said. So maybe he meant it like the Bull means when he says  _ I want to make you feel good _ . Like it’s doing just as much for him as the Bull’s hands do.

“Hands and knees, above me,” Dorian instructs, and so the Bull lays him down on the bed to follow after. “Hold still.” 

Dorian cinches the belt around the Bull’s chest another notch tighter; not enough to risk a rib, but enough to make his breaths shallow or uneven. A tap against the clasp: at ease.

“Oil,” Dorian says, and the Bull drips some from the vial onto his palm to stroke onto his dick, always more than he thinks will be enough. Dorian props himself on his elbows to watch, hunger written all across his face. It’s weird being on this side of the exchange. Something familiar, but not with Dorian, never with Dorian--remember that, remember that Dorian doesn’t want to do this for anyone else. Remember that it goes both ways.

Dorian would be a pretty crap tamassran, anyway. He doesn’t have much of a bedside manner. And besides, what they’ve built here they’ve built together. It wouldn’t fit right for other people.

So the Bull watches Dorian’s face, and Dorian waves a hand and says, “Go on, then.”

Dorian makes the Bull do all the work to get in, while reclining back against his bedding, gold-brown skin on deep red, gasping and occasionally shivering, hard and leaking. “Slowly,” Dorian says, and then an inch later he’s grabbing the Bull by the collar and yanking him forward.

He doesn’t let go. There’ll be a mark there later; the Bull’s looking forward to it.

So in stops and starts, Dorian guides him in. The base of the Bull’s dick is always an effort, but for Dorian’s soft sigh when he bottoms out, he’d put in twice as much and more.

“Stay there,” Dorian says, and then he starts  _ moving _ \--slowly rolling his hips so that the Bull shifts inside him, driving up and back. The Bull swears in Common, in Qunlat, as Dorian grinds against him. 

Finally he guides the Bull’s hands down to his waist. “Tell me,” he says, and now his voice is strained, “tell me what you want again.”

There’s a right answer. But there’s also a more accurate answer.

“I want you.”

Dorian’s eyes soften, hands reaching up to hold the Bull’s face. “Oh, amatus,” he says, “you have me.” Then he smiles, sharp again, and slides his hands down to unfasten the belt around the Bull’s chest. “Now give me everything else.”

Released from the belt’s constriction, the Bull breathes in until he’s dizzy with it, and sinks with only Dorian’s hands and mouth to anchor him.

“Fuck me,” says Dorian, and his voice sounds far away. “That’s it, just let go. You needn’t try to control yourself tonight. Allow me.”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” says the Bull, and grips where Dorian had instructed, and does as he’s told.

  
  


Like this: pulling Dorian in until there’s no space between their skin, dragging back, then driving forward again. The Bull starts slow but it’s torture to hold back, and Dorian’s fingers are digging into his neck as they kiss. He makes a low noise in his throat, and the Bull lets his last restraints fall away.

He shoves in, pulls back, pounding into Dorian just for each ragged inhale and each hissed demand. Feels blindly around for the best angle, where Dorian makes the right noises. Holds Dorian’s hips tight enough to leave a lasting bruise. Dorian bites his lips when they kiss, and the Bull pulls away tasting blood. 

He says, “I want to hear you,” and Dorian raises his voice. He says, “I want to touch you,” and Dorian strokes his right wrist until he can let go.

“I want you to come for me, just on my dick,” he says when he’s finished exploring Dorian’s, hand stilling.

Dorian laughs. “I’ll certainly try.”

  
  


Dorian, boneless against the bed, still rising to meet the Bull’s thrusts, making desperate noises like he still hasn’t gotten off, and it’s so incredible how much Dorian loves getting fucked even after climax. 

“Stop thinking about it,” Dorian says. 

“Tell me what you want,” Dorian says.

Through the haze of sex, the Bull gropes around for an answer. Dorian stays silent but for the noises fucked out of him, and the Bull wants--he wants--

Well, for starters.

“I want to come inside you,” he says.

Dorian smiles up at him without any tension at all. He nods, and that’s all it takes in the end.

  
  


The hearth fire had died down, so Dorian had guided the Bull to sit up close. He carefully stokes the fire, without once breaking contact between them. Naked, the both of them, but the Bull needs skin against skin, and Dorian doesn’t really seem all that interested in pulling away either.

He’s sitting in the Bull’s lap and absently tracing all the scars he can reach, and while the Bull has surfaced enough to reclaim control of himself, he figures he’s all right needing a bit more time to adjust. 

“I want to stay like this for a while,” he says.

Dorian tips his head back to meet the Bull’s eye. “I suppose I can permit it,” he says, and then quietly snorts. “I think I want that, too.”

  
  



End file.
